Love
by Frayed One
Summary: The people in her life reminisce about Elissa Cousland after her death.


"The first time I saw her she was chasing that hound of hers after he'd somehow managed to get hold of her knickers."

The group of variously armored men and women chuckled where they sat around Carver Hawke, now second in command of the Fereldan branch of the Grey Wardens. It certainly sounded like something Elissa would have gotten herself into.

"Gigi only got them because she gave them to him. She sent him away with the promise of a treat if he kept you lot busy searching for them while she, Al–" Warden-Commander Gilmore's voice hitched a moment, but he cleared it away. His friend and fellow Warden turned King had gone to the void a year before, and it was strange to speak of a time when he and Elissa had been on friendly terms, though they had once been far more than just friends. "We were playing truth or dare."

Another low rumble of laughter flowed around the room. Glasses clinked as ale and wine were poured into newly emptied glasses. Rory had always suspected Elissa sent Alistair away to spare him bearing witness to her decline, but he'd never known for certain. And now he never would.

A tall man with thick auburn hair threaded through with silver stood and walked over to the window, focusing on the newly reseeded autumnal forests beyond, and the few old trees that had managed to survive the fires that had claimed most of the Heartwood. It had not been easy to allow such a large mass of strangers into his family home after so many years spent in solitude, but Fergus Cousland had always been willing to do anything for his sister. Her death did not change that.

"She ever talk you into that?"

The question was posed to Fergus in a raspy half-whisper accompanied by the the offer to refill his steadily dwindling ale supply. Gamlen Amell had been hired to kill the last of the Wardens and abduct his sister for the traitor Rendon Howe, yet somehow he'd managed to become one of Elissa's most trusted allies and devoted paramours in the end. There were times the last Lord of Highever wondered how she'd managed to inspire the level of adoration she found with those whom she'd undoubtedly manipulated and molded into whatever she needed at the moment. But then he'd remember who she'd been before the war and the Blight changed her, and it all made sense again.

"Elissa could talk anyone into anything if she set her mind to it. There was very little she didn't ask of me over the course of our lives together." He answered, turning back to the window as soon as the words had left him. He'd stopped being angry with her the moment he'd realized how quickly she was dying, but the inability to process all that had transpired between them left him bitter, and now he was alone with it. The last of the Couslands stumbling through whatever years he had left before the Deep Roads called him as well.

"I didn't know whether she was going to stab me or kiss me when she finally opened that room where Howe was holding me in Denerim." This tale came from the Queen, her signature blonde hair pulled up in a tidy bun, though the armor she was wearing made her appear vastly different than the regal dress in which she was normally seen.

"That was the best thing about her." Purred a dark-haired, dark-skinned, curvaceous woman perched atop a nearby table. "She could go from one to another in the blink of an eye. Always kept you guessing. Lis was never boring. Every second spent with her was an adventure."

"Even when you weren't really looking for it." Delilah Howe's distinctive profile lent a bitter edge to her words, unfortunate as she'd let go of any anger she felt toward the Elissa years before her death. She stepped up to the window where the last of the Couslands remained and lay a hand on his arm. He rolled it and took her hand, forest-green eyes remaining fixed on the landscape beyond the window.

"Perhaps you were and you did not know it, no?"

The look that Delilah shot toward the one time Antivan assassin was less than impressed, as was her tone when she responded with; "Is that what you thought when she made you a Warden against your desires? That she was taking you on some _grand adventure_?"

Zevran shrugged. "It is no secret that I held anger in my heart. But it was easy to let go. Doamnă Morții, she never asked of me more than I was willing to give. I was not enslaved. My choices were my own, and she fought to keep it as such. This is more than I can say when I speak of my former masters."

"I was a beast when she found me."

The room quieted for a time, though whether it was out of respect or fear was difficult to discern. Swiftrunner could inspire both, separately and together, and it was difficult, at times, to know for which he was aiming. The Teyrn sometimes wondered if it was his sister who had instilled that quality in him, or if they had simply been kindred spirits, somehow able to understand one another where others tried and failed.

"You are a beast now, love. But only in the most satisfying of ways." Isabela purred back, winking at the broad-shouldered, golden-eyed man in the corner who chuckled low in response.

"She had many opportunities to kill me. To eradicate my kind. But she saved us; elves and wolves alike." The man's eyes passed briefly across the crowded room where they met with the hazel eyes of the Brecilian elves new Keeper, Lanaya, who acknowledged him with a swift nod. "She worked to broker peace where there had only ever been death and violence. She gave me a name when I had forgotten my own. I will never speak an ill word against her, and I would caution against it from any other." The former werewolf's eyes narrowed briefly, until Isabela placed a hand on his shoulder and stroked down.

"Now, now, sweeting. Let me sing a song into your ear sure to soothe the savage beast."

Another thread of laughter ran the room, broken by a hoarse, muffled voice from the shadows near the door. "She named me as well. Gave me shelter when none would. A home. A purpose. Though it did her no favors."

Eyes turned toward the figure, covered head to toe in thick armor, save for his eyes, the milky-whites of which peered through the small bit of space allotted to them. "She called me Gabriel, and she worked to find a cure for my condition up until the day that she died. So that I could live in this world that I love without destroying it. I do not know where I will go now that she is gone."

"I can answer that." Gamlen cleared his throat and stepped forward, extending a rolled parchment marked with Elissa's personal seal. It took a moment for Gabriel to reach and accept it, and even then he did so warily, though with more concern for Gamlen than himself. "That is the deed to a small tract of land and a cabin not far from Soldier's Peak. The research that continues there is intended to find a cure not just for your condition, but for all those who suffer the taint, Wardens and darkspawn alike. She didn't forget you, or the sacrifices you made on her behalf." Denim eyes scanned the full cast of the room with intention. "She didn't forget any of you. I have more of those to hand out than I care to think on."

Mumbled praises and words of reassurance and gratitude passed around the room like wind through the leaves of the trees outside. Fergus could almost see them moving, spectral and wisplike, trailing past walls and out windows, heard and unheard.

He tried not to notice when the aging bowman excused himself and stepped into the atrium out of hearing and sight range of the crowded room. He tried not to hear the whispered near-broken conversation between Amell and the woman now gone far beyond any space he could reach with words of pleading and apology, with doubts and turmoil and pain. And most of all, he tried not to care.

Somewhere in the lonely years he'd spent walking in the footsteps of his father he'd somehow managed to learn how a man so large could move so silently. With a few long strides he'd left the hall and stepped into the space behind the bowman. Stone walls, half-covered in ancient lichen and half bare with newly repaired bricks surrounded them, and the teyrn was nearly overwhelmed for a moment by the smell of lilac billowing through from a small ornamental garden now in full bloom.

"You can," he said simply. Amell didn't turn, nor did the last of the Couslands expect him to. Fergus was certain he was heard. "Whatever it is she asked of you, you can do it. She knew that or she'd never have asked." Elissa had been many things–not all of them good–but she'd known the measure of a person even if they themselves never saw it. Fergus had no doubt in his mind that she'd been right about Gamlen Amell.

"So whatever it is she asked…see it done."

Gamlen nodded, and without a word took several steps across the garden, toward the castle doors that would lead him out and into the Wood. Fergus hesitated for only a breath, then called after him, "When it is…you have a home here as well. It may not be the one you wanted, but it is the best I can do. I…owe her that. And you."

Gamlen paused, finally looking back toward Fergus. His navy eyes were shining, though no tears fell. The elder's lips pursed, and his head tilted in a terse nod, and then he was gone. Off to complete one final favor for Elissa Cousland.


End file.
